Friday, April 6, 2007

fresh veg

I had another funny dream last night. Keith asked if I would mind if he went out to practice picking up other women, just to see if he still had it. I said it was OK, but I was focused on other things - I had just won a fashion competition with a pink hat called 'Chase The Poof' and was feeling vindicated over Keiths mocking of my fashion sense. I wonder what my psyche thinks is happening in our relationship?

(Keith talked in his sleep last night too. He sat up suddenly and said loudly 'Adele Wallerby is ovulating again!' I love it so much when he talks in his sleep. It is like an unexpected show in the middle of the night. My all-time favourite was when I woke to the sound if him clicking his fingers and crooning a jazzy song in gibberish language).

On the topic of extra marital jollies though, the fruit and veg man in Thirroul cracked onto me this week. Fortyish, round, jolly, like a Greek Santa. I thought he was a family man - we had spoken about his baby daughter before. It was more than a little wierd but maybe they do things differently in the country. Heres how it went down:

Santa - Hellooo - hows that baby of yours?
Me - Great, thanks, really good. You've got one too, right?
Santa - Me, I've got three. Three families, you know, one after the other. (laughs heartily).
Me - (laughs politely) Oh, right. Good.
Santa - So hows the dad, your husband, hows he like?
Me - He's great.
Santa - He like the baby?
Me - Yes, he loves her.
Santa - Well, you can't trust that.
Me - Sorry?
Santa - I'd like to see you in five years. You look good.
Me - Can I just get the capsicum -
Santa - I've had enough of the one I'm with now. I'm ready to move on.
Me - OK....right(laughs nervously, moves at speed towards the door).
Santa - See you soon!

The problem is that I've developed an addiction to peppadew, sweet capsicum with fetta rolled in balls, and he's the only dealer in town. I talked to the women at the local deli but their suggestion was to make it myself. It seemed like a possibility until we deconstructed the recipe: roast the capsicum, peel those terrible sticky bits, marinate the fetta, etc, etc. Who's got time for that caper?

There is one solution. I could send Keith in to deal with the fruit man. He can learn some new pick-up tricks, I get my capsicum without the icky feeling inside, and the fruit and veg man is protected from his own evil demons. Result!

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Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.